


Bright College Years

by madnessandbrilliance



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College, College Parties, It's just fluff and sexual tension, Keith goes to harvard, M/M, Shiro is a Harvard alum and Adam went to columbia, everyone in the ivy league is stupid, hunk and pidge go to MIT, its a chance for me to make fun of the elitism lmao, ivy league school au, lance goes to yale, literally just banter and sexual tension i dunno what else to tell you, rival school au, this is so self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 00:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16692055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessandbrilliance/pseuds/madnessandbrilliance
Summary: Lance doesn't know how they got here.One minute he, Hunk and Pidge were headed to the “bar"-- the table with various mixers and handles-- the next he was bickering with some guy in a Harvard sweater.---Or, Lance and Keith go to rival colleges and experience a lot of sexual tension.





	Bright College Years

**Author's Note:**

> Are you all ready for one of the most self indulgent things I've ever written??? I'm so sorry fhkjdal I had to do it the idea hit me upside the head and I couldn't escape
> 
> All jokes about the schools involved and Lance's adventures in Cambridge are based on genuine harvard/yale jokes and experiences. I know they're not necessarily funny. I'm sorry 
> 
> Please enjoy anyways :3

The pulsating lights swing to the beat of the music, illuminating the mass of bodies in the darkened apartment. It smells like beer and brownstone, a scent Lance has come to associate with the residential buildings of Harvard’s campus. A few windows are open, letting in the crisp November air, but despite this Lance can feel sweat beading around the collar of his Y-emblazoned sweater. He  _really_ shouldn’t have worn a sweater tonight. Still, there were only so many clothes he brought with him, and Hunk had encouraged him to rep his school while they went into the belly of the beast.

“They’re gonna all be decked out in crimson and super smug about The Game being in Fenway this year,” he’d reminded Lance over the tinny computer speakers as they Skyped. “So we gotta remind them they’re not really all that.” Lance had nodded in agreement, always happy to smack down his rival school.

The big guy himself was now ambling towards him with two bottles in hand. No sweater, just a long sleeved t-shirt that reads “ _F/a    sqrt(-1)    PV/nR_ ”. It is, Lance concedes disgruntledly, a _great_ shirt.

Hunk hands him a bottle before taking a sip of his own “You good?”

“It’s hot,” Lance gripes. “And the music kinda sucks.”

“That’s what you get for wearing a sweater to the party. And you _love_ Avicii.”

Lance chooses to ignore the comment about the sweater. “Well, Harvard doesn’t deserve to play Avicii. Their parties always suck.”

“This one isn’t so bad,” Hunk says, looking around. “People are dancing and stuff.”

“I guess.” While Hunk entertains Lance in bashing Harvard and enjoys making fun of the other Boston power-school as much as any other MIT student, he definitely doesn’t mind admitting when the school is doing alright. Lance, on the other hand, does mind. “But mark my words, it’s gonna go downhill soon.”

Hunk rolls his eyes and claps a hand to Lance’s back, jostling him. “Whatever, bro. Let’s go find Pidge. I think she was messing with the lights earlier.”

Lance takes a sip, fans himself again, then they head off to find Hunk’s classmate and their mutual friend.

* * *

Keith, like every other Ivy League student, has come to realize that despite all his good grades and high test scores, he’s really just an idiot.

Firstly, he’s allowed himself to be convinced by his older brother to attend one of the many Harvard-Yale parties on campus, despite having an exam on Tuesday. Secondly, he allowed his brother to convince him to wear his preppy school sweater for ‘school spirit’, despite hating literally everything about it looked. There seems to be a pattern here.

He prefers t-shirts and leather jackets to the khaki and polo look his classmates wear, but Shiro _insisted_. “It’s your last Harvard-Yale as a student, Keith,” He’d said. “You need to show school spirit.” At least he’d gotten to wear his comfortable (read: torn up) black jeans and his gloves. Shiro couldn’t talk him out of that one.

Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, Keith is an idiot because he cannot stop staring at a boy. And not just any boy. A boy in a white sweater with a big, blue Y.

He’s so fucking stupid.

Keith jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder, spilling whatever jungle juice is in his cup all over the floor. He stares at it. Looks up. Stares at Shiro, who looks mildly guilty and extremely amused.

“Whoops,” Shiro offers, not sounding particularly ashamed. “Are you having fun?”

“A blast,” Keith deadpans, and finishes off the tiny amount left in his cup. “How are so many students at this party? You graduated. Shouldn’t you just be surrounded by newly wealthy alums in their late twenties missing the carefree lack of responsibility of their college days?”

Shiro snorts. “I think you’re overestimating how many parties there are on campus. Everyone’s gonna go to whatever party they hear about this weekend.”

“Oh, joy.”

“Come on! Go mingle. Find a cute guy and flirt with him. This is your last Harvard-Yale, you can’t spend it locked in your room doing problem sets.”

“I could,” Keith points out. Shiro looks crestfallen, and Keith sighs. “But I won’t.

Shiro's answering grin makes it worth it. "Let's go refill your drink."  
  
Keith follows the older man over to the bar, where several bottles line the counter. Shiro leans over to kiss Adam's cheek from where he's casually watching the drinks. Keith ignores them and picks one at random, pouring it into his cup.  
  
"Any cute classmates catch your eye tonight?" Shiro asks, not sly in the least. Keith rolls his eyes so hard he feels slightly dizzy. Adam snorts from where he's pretending he isn't listening.  
  
"Shiro, I've gone to school with these people for three and a half years. I promise, if one of them had caught my eye, I would've made a move."  
  
"No, you wouldn't have," Shiro says at the same time as Adam, and just as Keith sighs and corrects himself half a beat later. "No, I wouldn't have."  
  
Shiro strokes his nonexistent beard. "If not a Harvard guy, what about a Yale guy? Get some of that Romeo and Juliet vibe going here."  
  
"Star-crossed lovers, two houses opposed, a love doomed from the start." Adam pretends to swoon. Keith flicks him over the counter, only to be dodged.  
  
"Fuck Yale lives," he grumbles, reaching for one of the two liter bottles of Coke. His hand bumps into someone else's, and he looks up.  
  
Well, shit.  
  
"You were saying?" Shiro mumbles, from directly behind him and Keith feels his cheeks darken. Because standing next to him, looking startled, is the broad-shouldered, bronze-skinned guy in the Yale sweater.

* * *

Lance doesn't know how they got here.

One minute he, Hunk and Pidge were headed to the “bar"-- the table with various mixers and handles-- the next he was bickering with some guy in a Harvard sweater.

That's how he knows it's a terrible idea. Because this guy is, like Lance himself, wearing one of the preppy-ass letter sweaters at a party where the room temperature has got to be at least ninety degrees. Only an idiot would subject himself to this kind of torture, and only a bigger idiot would let himself be dragged into an argument with said idiot. Not to mention the extremely unfortunate haircut this guy is sporting.

If he focuses on the hair, he can kind of ignore the fact that this guy pulls off the sweater much better than he ever could, somehow managing to convert its shapeless, preppy lump into a flattering, fitting roguish look. Even his stupid fingerless gloves, which on anyone else Lance is sure would look absolutely ridiculous, inexplicably add an edgy look to the ensemble. It somehow manages to irritate Lance even more.  

“We have more presidents and more nobel laureates alums. How does that _not_ mean that we have more successful graduates?”

Lance wants to shove him into a table. “Harvard literally has a larger student body by almost _twice_ as much. The fact that Yale is so small and is still able to compete says a whole lot, doesn’t it?”

“That sounds like an excuse.” The guy narrows his eyes. Lance rolls his.

“It _sounds_ like basic statistics, but I get it if you’re struggling to grasp that. I heard your math program kind of sucks.”

“This coming from the guy who’s school gave us Ben Carson _and_ Bill Clinton. We had _Barack Obama_.”

Lance scoffs. “So? Princeton had Michelle Obama, they’re still a bunch of jerks.”

He's surprised when the guy shrugs. “Good point.”

“You're agreeing with me?”

The guy raises an eyebrow as he brings his cup to his lips and takes a drink. He has really nice eyes, Lance thinks, then scowls at himself. “I have an ex at Princeton,” He admits. “Fuck Princeton.”

Lance’s bites his lip to keep from laughing. “I'll drink to that,” he says, and taps his cup against the other boy's.

* * *

Keith can feel Lance’s breath on his neck and it’s making him shiver. “You have to give it an _arch_ when you toss it,” Lance says. Keith grumbles as he stares at the plastic cups on the other end of the table.

“I know how to do it,” he snaps.

He feels rather than sees Lance move out of his personal space, and in the corner of his eye he sees Lance lean one shoulder against the wall, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants. He’s wearing _khakis_ , for fucks sake. It should look arrogant, like all the prep school snobs in Keith’s freshman year economics course. Instead, Keith kind of wants to shove him against a wall, a feeling that began when Lance first smirked at him and asked him if Harvard students can handle drinking vodka worth under seventy dollars. “Are you sure? Cause I’ve been the one making all the shots so far, and Hunk is _never_ gonna let me hear the end of it if we lose.”

Across the table, Lance’s friend in the MIT shirt high fives the smaller girl in the hoodie next to him. “Leave your new friend alone, Lance!” He calls out. “Flirting isn’t gonna help!”

Lance starts spluttering just as Keith tosses the ping pong ball. It lands in the front cup with a splash. A few spectators let out cheers as the small girl-- Pidge, or something like that-- groans and grabs the cup to drink the beer. Keith barks a laugh. “Ha! See? I told you I could do it!”

He looks over at Lance, who looks rather flushed, and is now staring at him with wide eyes. “Uh- ri- right. Good job.” He clears his throat. “Y’know, for a Harvard guy.”

Keith raises a brow. “For a Harvard guy?”

“Accept the compliment,” Lance huffs, stepping forward to catch the ping pong ball Pidge threw, which bounces off the edge of one of the cups.

Keith shrugs, biting back a grin. Suddenly feeling a bit brave, he steps into Lance’s space, tilting his head until his lips are just shy of Lance’s ear. “The flirting might’ve helped,” he murmurs, and feels Lance twitch. “You’re not too bad. Y’know. For a Yale guy.”

He steps back and fixes his gaze across the table, where Hunk is taking aim. He can’t see what expression Lance makes, but seconds later, he feels a hand brush the small of his back, and when he glances back over, Lance is giving him a look. Their eyes meet.

A quiet splash tells him Hunk landed his shot, but he and Lance are locked in something of a staring contest. Keith raises a brow challengingly. Lance starts to smirk.

“Right,” he says, turning away and grabbing the cup Hunk had just landed the ball in. He throws back the bit of beer inside and tosses it to the side. Keith feels a flutter of … _something_ as Lance slides the hand at the small of his back around to encircle his waist, pulling Keith closer as he takes aim for his next throw.  “I’ll _show_ you flirting, mullet.”

One corner of Keith’s mouth starts to lift. “Looking forward to it.”

* * *

So. Yeah.

This was happening.

Keith’s hand slides down to wrap around Lance’s waist as he gently tugs on Lance’s bottom lip. In response, Lance twists his fingers into the soft black hair at the back of his neck-- the _mullet_ for fuck’s sake-- eliciting a soft sigh from the other boy. A soft gasp escapes him as Keith pushes him until his back hits the wall.

This isn’t Lance’s first DFMO-- he had a wild freshman year, and you can't expect to attend Yale's local club, Toad's, on a Wednesday night without finding _someone_ to hook up with. This is, however, his first dance floor make out with a Harvard boy. And loath as he is to award Harvard any sort of credit... he has to say it's worth it. Though maybe it's not any Harvard boy. Maybe it's just this one.

He can't tell if the spinning feeling in his head is from the buzz from the earlier beers he’d had, or the sensation of Keith pulling him flush against him. He would rather credit his dizziness to from the flashing strobe lights of the emptying bar room, than to the hand Keith has sliding beneath his shirt. But though Lance is a lot of things, he’s not stupid, and he knows the way Keith is running his tongue along Lance's is definitely factoring into his inability to remember his own name.

Not for the first time tonight, Lance curses his sweater. Then, as he angles his head to suck lightly on the pulse point of Keith's neck, he thumbs under the bottom of the knitted wool hiding Keith's hips and curses Keith's. They both really need to take these sweaters off. _Now_.

Lance shifts until his leg is pressed between Keith's, then drags himself back up to his lips. Keith chuckles slightly, low and rough. “Y'know,” he mumbles, barely audible over the pounding stereo. His breath hitches when Lance kisses him even more insistently, and Lance feels a triumphant thrill. His next words are stifled by Lance's mouth. “I guess I guess what they say about Yalies is wrong... you’re one hell of a kisser.”

Lance breaks away just as Keith leans in again to deepen the kiss. Keith looks a mixture of inconvenienced and quietly amused. “Your school mascot,” Lance begins heatedly. “Is a fucking _color_.”

It might’ve been the wrong thing to say, or the right thing, because Keith begins to laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners and dimples appearing on the corners of his lips-- lips which Lance refuses to look at because how _dare_ Keith bring up the stupid school rivalry when they were making out.

He’s not pulling away from Lance, though, thumbs playing up and down Lance’s side where they’re still pressed against each other. “So? Harvard Crimson is pretty legendary, don’t you think? At least people _recognize_ us. You and I both know we have more gear than you.”

“Yeah, gear to hide your malnourished bodies cause your food is _inedible_ .” He’s lying. He’s known Keith looked strong and… well, _grizzled_ just from the cut of his shoulders in his stupid Harvard sweater. And the rock hard muscles of Keith’s bicep beneath his hands just confirm that. But like hell he’s gonna admit it.

“Well, we have more successful graduates.”

“Oh, bull _shit_.”

“We do,” Keith smirks, and maybe Lance has a problem because he shouldn’t find the other guy that sexy when he’s trying to bash Lance’s alma mater. “Our thirty-seven billion dollar endowment says hello.”

Lance rolls his eyes even as he slides his hands up Keith’s arms to the sides of his neck. He doesn’t miss the way Keith’s eyes go half lidded and drop to Lance’s mouth. Hah. _Sucker_.  “Just like a Harvard kid, bringing up money and acting like that’s a sign of success. Do you get paid to be pretentious?”

Keith doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s Princeton, actually.”

Lance almost snorts, because fuck Princeton, honestly. “Yale is a better place to be an undergraduate, and that’s a _fact_. You’re just mad cause we’re happier and have better parties.”

“Yeah, and you also have George fucking _Bush_.” Keith wrinkles his nose. Lance wants to kiss it. “Not something to brag about.”

“We’ve got prettier people.”

At that, Keith’s smirk returns, and he pushes Lance a little more towards the wall. There’s nowhere to go though, and it just ends up bringing them closer together. One of his arms wraps around Lance’s waist, the other moves smoothly into Lance’s hair, bringing him in until their noses are brushing. “Can’t argue with that,” Keith murmurs. Lance can’t even squawk in triumph, because then they’re kissing again.

* * *

Keith knows he’s doomed when he tugs on the bottom of Lance’s sweater with a frustrated groan. “Can you _please_ ,” he says with more annoyance in his voice than he intended to portray. “Take this thing _off_.”

Lance hums a little, gently tugging on Keith’s earlobe. “Buddy,” he says, in complete contrast to the way he’s tightening his arms around Keith's shoulders. “We are _literally_ in a crowded apartment right now. We’re already kinda pushing social etiquette with this level of PDA. Do they teach you party manners to go with that Harvard degree?”

They look at each other, Lance with one eyebrow raised, eyes sparkling in the strobe lights of the room, Keith full on frowning. As they continue making eye contact, Keith softens. “Well, we don’t _have_ to be.”

“Be what?” Lance says, already eyeing Keith’s mouth again. Keith pulls back a little more, though not far enough to completely separate their chests, pressed together.

“Here. In a crowded apartment.”

Lance’s eyes snap up to his, face darkening in color. “Wait- are you-”

“We don’t have to do anything!” Keith cuts him off, beginning to flush too. “I just, I dunno, figured it might be nice to get out of this heat. Maybe grab something to eat. Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

Lance is relaxing again, though he still looks a little surprised. “I was supposed to stay with Hunk, at his dorm. He’s--” he hesitates. Keith remembers earlier, when Lance’s friend had tapped him on the shoulder and whispered something to him, and how Lance had waved him off. “He told me earlier he and Pidge were going to head back cause it was getting late. I, uh--”

Keith feels himself start to smile again, nervousness vanishing at the sight of Lance avoiding his gaze. He lets out a knowing hum, raising both brows. “You stayed... for me?”

He laughs when Lance scowls and drops his gaze to Keith’s chest. Keith brings his hands up to play with the collar of the button down under Lance’s sweater. He can’t keep the grin off his face.

“I _stayed_ \--- because- I mean-- you--” Lance cuts himself off and groans, slouching and letting his head fall onto Keith’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

Keith snickers. “Right.” Lance turns his head, nose brushing Keith’s neck. Keith refuses to let himself be distracted. “Well, since your friends aren’t here… did you want to go get something to eat? It’s nearly two am.”

“Sure,” Lance mumbles. He lifts his head back up, meeting Keith’s gaze. He looks so handsome like his, eyes glinting, lips red and kiss-swollen, curls swept wildly from how many times Keith raked his hands through them. Keith’s heart jumps a little. They’d only known each other for a few hours, they went to different schools, and yet Keith’s mind isn’t letting himself process any of this. All he can think about was the feel of Lance’s hands, now rubbing small circles into his hipbones. “Can we get burgers? I really want a burger.”

Keith steps back, his hand running down Lance’s arm to intertwine their hands. “You got it.”

* * *

Lance’s hand shoots out to close around the last french fry on the tray, yanking it towards him seconds before Keith’s hand smacks on the table. He pops it into his mouth, giggling as Keith scowls at him from the other table. “That was supposed to be mine.”

“You snooze, you lose, Keithy-boy. And _wow_ , that was a good one. Might’ve been better than any of the other ones.” He smacks his lips, milking it for all he’s worth. He can’t help it-- Keith looks adorably frustrated right now, and despite his very clear interest in the other boy, Lance can’t help the satisfaction he feels at beating out anyone in crimson. Huck farvard, and all that.

Keith just grumbles and takes a sullen sip of his milkshake. Lance feels warm inside. It’s nearly three am at this point, and he’s supposed to meet his society for a pregame at nine. Kick-off is at noon. He _should_ be asleep right now. He should definitely have been at Hunk’s ages ago. He _shouldn’t_ be staring at a Harvard boy he’ll probably never see again after this weekend and wishing he could kiss him, wishing he could see if he tastes like the vanilla milkshake he’s drinking.

Keith probably has plans for tomorrow as well. Lance can’t help but feel honored that Keith is here with him instead of in his own bed.

There’s a quiet slurping sound as Keith gets to the bottom of his shake. Lance finished his ages ago. The Tasty Burger they’re in is almost empty-- it should’ve closed nearly an hour ago, but it was full of too many students to clear out. Keith drops his cup into their bag of garbage and stands up. “We should probably leave before they kick us out.”

Lance stands too, stretching with a soft groan. “Okay. Thanks again for buying.”

Keith waves him off. “Don’t mention it.”

They trudge out of the shop into the cold of the night. Lance burrows a little more into his coat, suddenly more pleased with himself for wearing his sweater. He’s sobered up by this point, and with that has come the cold. A quick glance at his phone shows him messages from Hunk asking if he’d be in soon. He winces.

“I should probably try to get back to Hunk’s. I stayed out way too late.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, sounding abashed. Lance bumps his shoulder.

“Don’t be. I wanted to.”

Keith smiles at him, and Lance feels his cheeks warm. They don’t say anything for a moment, just walking in companionable quiet. Lance wishes he could gather the nerve to take Keith’s hand like Keith had done when they left the party. Was whatever there was between them at that party gone?

Keith finally breaks the silence. “Where does Hunk live?”

“Uh… Simmon’s Hall, I think.” Lance doesn’t notice when Keith stops, an aghast expression on his face. He pauses when he realizes Keith is no longer next to him, turning around to look at him in confusion. “What?”

“Are you gonna _walk_?”

Lance hesitates. “Ye _eeeees_?” He draws out the word, unsure.

“Do you know how far that is from here? It’s almost 3am, and it’s at least a half hour walk. that’s not safe, Lance. I can call you an uber or something, or walk you there.”

“What? No! You already bought me food, you’re not getting me an Uber. And if you walk me there, you’ll have to walk back by yourself and it’ll be even later so it’ll be worse.” Lance crosses his arms. Keith steps forward until they’re face to face.

“Maybe, but I actually know the city. You don’t.”

“That doesn’t matter! If you won’t let me do it, then you can’t either.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Lance. You’re not going to walk two miles this late at night in a city you don’t know. I bet you wouldn’t even do it in New Haven.”

“Nothing is two miles away in New Haven.”

“ _That is besides the point_ , would you just--” Keith takes a deep breath and pinches his nose. “I know you think you’re invincible cause you live in a city with a ridiculous crime rate and haven’t gotten mugged yet--”

“It’s not even _that bad,_ you just want to find something wrong with our campus--”

“--but if you aren’t going to call an Uber then why don’t you just… stay at mine.”

Lance freezes. Keith plows on, refusing to look at him. “I know I kind of suggested it before, but I promise, this isn’t an invitation to get you to do anything. I can take the couch. I just feel better about it than letting you walk halfway across Cambridge this late.”

He sounds so earnest, Lance feels like his heart is going to flutter right out of his chest. The worst part is, he wouldn’t even be opposed to doing anything with Keith. Maybe not a one-night stand, but he can’t lie and pretend he doesn’t want to kiss him again, and he still hasn’t forgotten how much he’d wanted to get them both out of these sweaters. He notices Keith is still talking and tunes back in.

“--and I feel bad since it’s partially my fault you’re out so late, anyways-- don’t say it’s not, ‘cause it kind of is. I’m sure Hunk won’t be happy to be woken up this late, it’d be better to just crash nearby. I live in Kirkland, that’s just like, five minutes away, so it’s way simpler. And obviously you can say no but I’m just trying to--”

“Okay.”

Keith coughs. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. You’re right, Hunk is probably exhausted, and I don’t want to wake him up. I could Uber, but honestly I’m kinda trying to save my money for emergencies this weekend. If you really don’t mind--”

“I don’t,” Keith says quickly. Lance flushes.

“Then yeah.” Lance looks at their feet. He takes a deep breath. “And honestly… I don’t mind getting an excuse to spend more time with you. You’re kind of... “ His voice trails off.

He feels Keith steps closer. When he looks back up, they’re almost nose to nose. Lance’s eyes drop towards his mouth. “Yeah?” Keith whispers, soft, like he knows what Lance is trying to say. Lance swallows. “You are too. For a Yale guy.”

Lance huffs a laugh. Their breath mingles in the snow. “Just for a Ya--”

Keith kisses him, sweetly, gently, nothing like the heated fervor against the wall of the apartment party. Lance responds immediately, intertwining their fingers, letting the warmth of Keith’s mouth against his fill him completely. It’s chaste, delicate, leaves him wanting more, chasing after Keith as he pulls back. Lance blinks at him. Keith tugs him by the hand. “C’mon.”

“Keep your pants on, mullet. Or don’t, I don’t mind.”

* * *

 

The walk home is slow. They swing their arms between them, stop on occasion to point out a building along the way or to sneak a kiss. By the time they get to Kirkland house, another red brick building with a vast courtyard, Keith feels both cold from the weather and very warm from Lance.

They get ready for bed in silence. Keith’s suitemates are all either out or asleep. There are a few people-- friend’s of his suitemates from Yale that they were hosting-- passed out on the couch in the common room, something he hadn’t considered when he invited Lance to stay. But one glance at Lance shows him Lance wasn’t expecting Keith to stay on the couch anyways.

When they climb into Keith’s tiny dorm sized bed, Lance doesn’t hesitate to pull Keith up and capture his mouth with his. It’s still slow, lazy. They’ve both pulled their sweaters off, but there’s no urgency, no need to take things further. It’s strange, Keith thinks, how relaxed things can be between them. This isn’t how nights usually end between strangers who meet and hook-up at a party. But he doesn’t feel strange about it, and neither, apparently, does Lance.

Sleepiness threatens to take over him, so with a final press of his lips, Keith moves to Lance’s jaw, down to his collarbone, then settles his head on Lance’s bare chest. Lance’s wraps an arm around him, pulling him close.

“This wasn’t how I expected my night to go,” Lance murmurs. Keith can feel the rumble in his sternum.

“Me either,” Keith says. He yawns.

“I have to leave earlyish in the morning. You probably have plans too, right?”

“Probably.” He can’t remember, nor does he particularly care right now.

“What about after the game. Do you have plans then?”

Keith sighs and lifts his head. Lance peers down at him. “Lance. It’s late. I’m tired. Let’s just go to sleep.”

“I just… I don’t want us to not talk again, after this.” Lance admits, and he sounds vulnerable. Keith softens, a bit more awake.

“Then we will. You’ll wake up tomorrow, wake _me_ up by making more noise than I can handle because we’ll both be hungover, both of us’ll probably ready to die from day-drinking because we’re all a bunch of idiots, we’ll exchange numbers, meet up after Harvard kicks y’all’s ass, and we’ll just… go with it as it comes. Okay?”

Lance stares at him. Keith doesn’t flinch. Then one corner of Lance’s mouth quirks. “After Harvard kicks our ass, huh?”

Keith smirks back. “Of course.”

Lance sighs, shaking his head and sinking back into the pillows. “Snobs. Huck farvard. Boola boola and all that.”

“Yuck fale, and what the _fuck_ does that even mean?”

They fall asleep bickering.

**Author's Note:**

> They wake up together and exchange numbers then meet up after the game and spend the whole night completely inseparable
> 
> also they find out they both have jobs post graduation in nyc and end up long distance dating where they visit each other sometimes on the weekends until after graduation where they meet up in new york and fall in love and get married so THERE
> 
> For those who didn't look it up, Hunk's shirt spells "MIT" in equations. (M=f/a, I=sqrt(-1), T=PV/nR). 
> 
> If you want to see a cute doodle of our rivals in their letter sweaters, check it out [here](https://twitter.com/shootsharpest/status/1063925083893321728) by my friend [Bai](https://twitter.com/shootsharpest)
> 
> hit up my [Tumblr](http://madness-and-brilliancee.tumblr.com/) and my [VLD Twitter](https://twitter.com/Loverboyklance)
> 
> If you liked it, kudos and comment please!


End file.
